


Sweet, Sweet

by ashley_ingenious



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Cunnilingus, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, F/M, POV Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2631029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashley_ingenious/pseuds/ashley_ingenious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl'd been told enough times in his life that everything he touched turned to shit, he'd started to believe it. </p><p>But this woman seemed to keep getting stronger, keep getting better with every shitty thing that happened to her. And Daryl was starting to think that maybe, maybe, he could touch her more than once without breaking her. Thought he might be able to make her feel good. Thought it might make <i>him</i> feel good, to make her feel good. </p><p>And hell if that wasn't a thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet, Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to imagine gray-asexual Daryl Dixon. He came out more Demi, but y'know, here it is. 
> 
> Set somewhere in that sweet spot between S3 & S4.

Daryl remembered the first time he'd been with a girl. Merle'd made him do it. 

"You're getting too old to still be claimin' cooties. You don't do somethin' soon they'll start thinking it's the boys that got your fancy." 

He'd said, high as a kite and swerving the car all over the road. Daryl didn't have his seatbelt on. Merle'd call him a pussy if he reached for it. 

"Always were a scrawny little thing though," his brother leered, top lip shiny with beer. "Might be the boys who got your fancy. I can't protect you then, though." 

Daryl snorted, put his eyes back on the road. Merle's protection had never done him much good anyway.

He thought about it, though. Most of the girls he knew were stupid little things, worried about making their lips sticky and off colored, getting their hair as high in the air as they could. None of them would survive a lick in his life. 

Daryl had always put a lot of stock in surviving. 

But he knew not doing anything would get his ass beat with prejudice, so he brushed his hair, showed up at the diner on a Friday night after a ball game, and got himself a girl. 

She was noisy, kept giggling at something he couldn't quite put a finger on. He figured he'd drink beer till something was funny, but that didn't work. Her laughter just got more grating. 

He switched to bourbon. 

And it was better. He wasn't all the sudden enjoying himself or anything, but he figured he could get through it without injury. 

She was leaned back on her elbows on the trailers crappy bed, pale yellow tank top looking dingy against his blue sheets. She was laughing and he was stumbling, and then he was over her. He put a sure hand down her pants and she was done laughing, she was panting then. 

And it was better. 

She started trying to talk, so he put his mouth over hers. The kiss was a sloppy thing, but she moaned a little-- giggled some, clenched a hand up by his shoulder. 

When they broke apart, her head fell back, dirty blonde hair spilling all over the place, and she'd stopped trying to make so much noise. 

His hands were sticky when he pulled them from her jeans, fumbling with the button. She watched him, pretty brown eyes glazed over with something Daryl'd never really seen before. 

He hesitated. 

"No," she breathed, voice soft for once, "don't stop." 

She lifted her hips, and Daryl pulled the jeans down over her thighs, her skinny legs, left them in a puddle on the dirty brown carpet. 

He pulled his own denim down around his thighs, got himself out, threw a condom on (he may have been backwoods, but he wasn't fucking stupid), and watched her. 

She scooted back on the bed, let him settle between her legs, figure out where to put what. 

He kept going, rutting inside her until she clenched up around him. Pressed in a few times more before she pushed him off. He took himself in hand, came on the soft skin of her stomach. Muttered a sorry as he wiped her off. 

She got dressed quiet, at least. Gave him a kiss on the cheek and left without having to be told. 

Merle'd left him alone about it after that. 

He'd been fifteen. 

There'd been women since then, occasional, because he'd never really got what all the fuss was about. 

But he thought about it a lot, now, looking at Carol. 

The women he'd been with-- he'd always felt like they'd trip over their own feet and die if they ended up on the road by themselves after dark. But this woman. 

This woman. 

Daryl'd been told enough times in his life that everything he touched turned to shit, he'd started to believe it. 

But this woman seemed to keep getting stronger, keep getting better with every shitty thing that happened to her. And Daryl was starting to think that maybe, maybe, he could touch her more than once without breaking her. Thought he might be able to make her feel good. Thought it might make _him_ feel good, to make her feel good. 

And hell if that wasn't a thought. 

All those women, and he'd never finished with any of them. He _really_ just didn't see the fuss. 

But something stirred in him when thinking about Carol, wondering if she'd go breathless and flush like some of those girls had, or maybe she'd be a little bossy. Looks were deceiving when it came to the bedroom, and he found himself wanting to _know_. 

Ed Peletier had been the worst kind of man. The kind that tried to break small things cause it made him feel bigger. Even Merle had only hit women with balls big enough to hit him back. And Daryl thought, with something akin to fury, that if that kind of man had been the last to touch Carol, well, that would just be a shame.

He'd been pacing, pretending to stand watch, crossbow slung over his shoulder, and then he was standing outside her cell, watching her mend a tear in the seam of a pair of men's pants. 

"Are those mine?" He blurted out, and her eyes shot up to meet his. There was a smile in them. 

Her hands were still moving over the stitching. 

"No. Rick's. Why, you got some missing?" She asked, eyes dropping back to her work. 

He shook his head, shifted the blade of grass in his teeth with his tongue. He'd picked it absently, walking around the fields, thinking about the way women's cunts went sticky when they felt good. Thinking about Carol.

She was looking at him now, head tilted, eyes concerned. "You okay?" 

He nodded hastily. "Yeah, I just," he took a tentative step into the room, watching her warily, and she smiled a little wider in welcome. 

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked, then swore at himself. 

_You just asked you asswipe_ , he thought. Merle's voice thought. But Carol just kept smiling and set down her knitting. 

"Shoot." 

"I...when's the last time you...y'know?" He asked, eyes on the ground. 

"Why, Daryl Dixon!" She asked, too damn _loud_ , voice joyous and echoing off the concrete walls. 

He couldn't help himself, he looked around to see if anyone was coming and she laughed at him. 

"Stop," he muttered, and she laughed some more, but quieter. He let himself all the way in the cell, settled down on the bunk, near her feet.

"I'm sorry. Just, of all the questions you could've asked, I definitely wasn't expecting that one." 

"S' the end of the world," he said quietly. "Everybody able is fuckin like rabbits. Hell, Rick's a hot minute from Michonne's pants." 

"And you? Sasha might be a good match. She's strong. I always pegged you for the type that liked a warrior." She mused, voice light. 

" _You're_ strong," he growled, swinging his head up to look at her before he could stop himself.

She watched him for a long moment, before nodding. "Stronger than I was, at least." 

"Stronger than any of us! Stronger than Rick, stronger than me. You're probably the strongest person I've ever met." He told her, wanted to shake her, shake that truth into her. 

"What's wrong?" She asked him, and she waited. 

He fidgeted a bit, pulled the blade of grass from his teeth and flung in out into the cell block. Shifted his bow from his back to his lap. 

"Was he," Daryl stumbled, "was Ed the last.."

But Carol had gone stiff beside him, so he stopped talking to look at her. 

Her eyes and jaw had gone hard when she told him, "now look, I don't want your pity." 

"Good!" He spat back, "'cause I don't have none for you!" 

He stood, pushing a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle. He set his bow down on the little desk she'd fashioned in the corner, fingers twitching with nerves. 

"Then what do you want?" She asked him, after a while. 

"To make you feel good. I just want to make you feel good. You don't have to... I don't need nothin back from you, just. Show me how to make you feel good." 

He felt like an idiot-- face and ears hot, eyes on her hands as they curled and uncurled in her lap. 

Judith whimpered somewhere in the cell block, sounded like Beth's cell. They waited until she settled, and then Daryl looked up at Carol again, just in time to see her sharp nod. 

"Okay," she said, shifting her sewing to the top bunk. 

"Okay?" Daryl repeated, dumbly. 

She shrugged. "It's the end of the world, right?" 

He kicked at nothing. "Now it feels like I've got your pity. This was stupid, nevermind," he grumbled, turning to go. 

Her thin fingers were around his wrist before he even heard her move. She was getting fast, staying quiet. He smiled, knowing that he'd taught her that. 

"A good man," she started, softly, "a man I trust, wants to make me feel good. I'm not gonna say no, Daryl. That's got nothing to do with pity."

She tugged at his wrist until he was sitting on the edge of the bed again, and settled in next to him. 

"Never done anything like this before," she said, all conversational, their knees knocking together. "Never did anything with anybody that wasn't my husband." 

He grabbed her hand, laced their fingers together in his lap.

"What about before?" 

She grinned. "I might've been a little wild in high school. Made out with some boys in cars, fogged up some windows. I'm sure you know something about that." 

She leaned into him, then, bumped their shoulders together.

"Stop," he said, because it's what he was supposed to say. The smile twisting up his face said otherwise. 

"Where it counted, I was a virgin when I married Ed. And there hasn't been anyone since." Carol murmured, voice gone a little sad. He squeezed at her fingers. 

"I can fix that?" 

Daryl wasn't sure who moved, but soon their mouths were pressed together. Carols lips were soft on his, and it took him by surprise. He expected her to be insistent. Instead, she was almost shy, definitely tentative. 

She pulled back after a moment, just a breath away, and Daryl reached a hand up, cupping her head and drawing her back in. He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips and she opened for him, hummed into him. 

"You taste like sweet grass," she breathed, when he let her up for air, her eyes opening slowly. 

Her hair was mussed, cheeks pinking, lips just starting to swell from abuse. And Daryl was going to say something, he was, but it came out as a grunt when he dove in to kiss her again.

\-----

Carol Peletier had been a mouse in the shadow of her husband, and was steel in his absence. But that night, laid out against a tattered, prison mattress, Daryl found the softness in her. The sweet, sweet vulnerability that she hid because she was afraid of it, afraid of what it meant.

He reveled in things he didn't let himself think about during the daylight hours. How her breasts were a little more than a handful. How her pretty pink nipples hardened at almost nothing. How her stomach quivered when you did something _good_. 

She wasn't noisy, but she was responsive. Her breathed stuttered, and she sighed and she writhed and she clutched at him. 

And Daryl'd been with women before, but never like this. 

He'd never wanted to eat someone out for hours, catalogue the pitch and tenor of every small sound she let herself make. Hunting and tracking had given him a head for detail, a memory for what worked and what didn't-- and Daryl wanted to exhaust that knowledge here in this bed, until Carol (insatiable Carol), was sleepy, and lax, and content. 

He'd been planning to fuck her. He really had. Wanted to. For the first time in a long time he'd wanted. 

But he'd gotten caught up in the sweet, wild taste of her, and the satin feel of her thighs around his ears. Got curious about how many times he could make her spasm and shake with his fingers and tongue alone. 

So he ignored how hard he'd gotten, and the friction of his cock against the mattress as he moved, thirsty for more of her. Forgotten all about it until Carol was working herself up for the fourth time, thighs shaking, sighs turning into little whimpers and whines. Daryl had already decided that was his favorite part, when she started making noise. She was shy about it, though, wary of drawing attention. 

Daryl was thinking he'd do like Glenn and Maggie, get her up in one of those watchtowers, see how much it'd take to make her _scream_ , when he felt it. 

A swoop and clench in his gut, in his balls, a tightness, and it was too soon, he'd been planning to fuck her. 

"Oh, _fuck _, Daryl," she whined, fingers tightening in his hair, and that was it.__

__"Holy hell," he muttered, biting hard at her inner thigh. He plunged two fingers into her, into the sweet, hot place she'd saved for _him_ , and came all over himself as she rode out her pleasure on his hand. _ _

__There was a quiet after. Both of them breathing heavy, Daryl's tongue soothing over the place he'd bitten. It'd bruise. He shouldn't enjoy that as much as he did._ _

__"Did you just...?" She asked quietly._ _

__"Yeah," he murmured into her skin. "Sorry."_ _

__"Nothing to apologize for," she said, sounding sleepy as she let her head fall back against the bed._ _

__"That bites gonna bruise," she mused, and he had to be imagining the satisfaction in her voice._ _

__"Yeah," he grumbled, lifting himself off of her. "Sorry."_ _

__"Cut that out." Carol scolded, sitting up on her elbows. "I'll start thinking you're sorry for more than you're saying."_ _

__He sat up as well, running a hand still slick with her through his hair._ _

__"Are you?" She asked then, mouse quiet, too much like before._ _

__"Hell no. Shoulda done that months ago. Don't plan on stoppin' 'less you make me, either." He told the cell wall in front of him._ _

__When he hazarded a glance at her, she was grinning. "Why, Mr. Dixon," she purred, "tell me how you really feel."_ _

__He could feel himself blushing, face going hot. " _ **Stop**_ ," he groaned. _ _

__She just laughed at him._ _

__"I should go clean up," he muttered, feeling around for his boots._ _

__("Least take your boots off," she'd huffed at him, "don't make it seem like you're going to war."_ _

__So he had.)_ _

__Carol waved a dismissive hand. "I've been covered in worse. You've got me here all naked and cold. 'S your job to warm me up now." She grinned at him.  
"You're gonna be a terror, aren't you? Just a greedy, demanding little thing." He asked, warming at that thought of it. Of Carol asking for him, of Carol _taking_ from him. He'd give her the world, he realized. _ _

__He already knew he'd burn it down for her, make it bleed for her. But now he knew he'd bring it to her on a silver platter surrounded by daisies, if she so much as asked him._ _

__"Get back here and find out," she teased, still smiling._ _

__So he did._ _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://theluckyouvegot.tumblr.com) on tumblr. I'm a wreck, but I'm there.


End file.
